


Chapped Lips and Bitterblue Eyes

by littletrickster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Sex, Destiel - Freeform, Destiel - Relationship - Freeform, Destiel!smut, M/M, Plot, Series, fluff with angst!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littletrickster/pseuds/littletrickster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically smut.  Team Free Will is covering a vampire job, but a few things went haywire, and Sam and Dean are surrounded.  The damn angel, meanwhile, has been gone for over forty-eight hours "on a quick errand", and Dean swears that if they make it out alive, he's going to kick Cas's feathery ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rated E for later chapter(s). My first fic attempt at this fandom, and of course it has to be Destiel smut. I'm only on season 4, so if some of this contradicts canon from future seasons, don't kill me. Opinions appreciated :D  
> Part of a several-chapter series.

_Shit_.  Dean wipes his forehead, panting.  Something wet smears on his sleeve.  He barely bothers to glance, tasting the metallic tang of it on his tongue.  "Sam?"  He lost sight of his little brother a few minutes ago and _damn_ , these vamps ain't kidding around.  He holsters his gun.  "Sam!"

A weak shout from a few yards away.  Dean crashes through the brush, thorns ripping his jeans.  He bats them away savagely, following the sound of the voice.  "Keep yellin', Sammy, I'm coming." 

He drops to his knees next to the crumpled form of his little brother.  A sting of panic races up his spine.  Ripping open Sam's shirt, he lets out an inventive string of curses, fingers searching for spilled blood in the weak moonlight.  "You hurt?"

"My leg," Sam gasps, body shaking, and his face is taut with agony.  "Blond dude caught me with a pitchfork."

Laughter and distant snarling echo amid the pines.  Dean glares around the forest, searching the trees for the glint of moonlight on metal.  His voice is worn down to a broken rasp, but that never stopped him before.  "Come on, you sons a bitches."  

"Go, Dean."  Sam's struggling up.  Dean grabs his waist, helps him lean against the nearest pine.  His little brother's face is white with pain, but he grits out, "Go.  Get Cas.  He's our last chance - "

"Goddammit, Sam, don't have time."  A redheaded vamp rushes out of the ring of trees.  She's got a garden rake, its handle sharpened to a razor-point.  Dean aims and fires, knowing it isn't gonna do much good, but she falls back with a watery cry.  A tiny sting of remorse hits him - she was a human once, and he swears he's seen her before - but it's soon buried under a flood of adrenaline as two more vamps rush him.

He takes them out quickly, efficiently, Sammy leaning against the pine, white-faced but calling out warnings as Dean ducks and hacks. 

He falls back, each breath harshly sawing in and out of his chest.   _Goddammit, Cas, if we get outta this alive I'm going to flay your feathery angel ass myself._

 

\- sixty minutes later -

What was supposed to be a quick one-hour job has turned into an all-out siege.

Bobby's arrived, but they're still trapped and the vamps are closing in.  Bobby's got Sam crouched down behind the Impala, gave him something for the pain, but every time Dean glances back at his little brother he can see the haze of agony curling his lips tight.  With one smooth twist he guts a vamp who was stupid enough to get close, a new burst of adrenaline pumping through his blood.  No one hurts Sammy and gets away with it.

A few minutes later, the vamps are gathering together for one last charge to finish them off.  Dean can see them between the trees.  Their forms waver like smoke, and he wipes the sweat from his eyes.  Exhaustion drags at his heavy muscles. 

No.  You gotta do this for Sam and Bobby and Ca -

Cas.

A rush of anger drives the exhaustion away, at least for now.  Dean isn't doing a goddamn thing for Cas.  The so-called angel left him.  Family don't leave when times get hard.  Family has your back.  And damn it all to hell, he knows he could pray and within a few seconds hear the woosh of huge wings.  But he isn't doing that.  He'd rather die.

"Dean!"  Bobby's hollering, and he's got that edge to his voice that says he's desperate.  The vamps are charging, teeth bared, blood streaking their clothes as they close in around the Impala.

And Sam.  Sam, with his white face and bloody, mangled leg, leaning against the Impala's trunk with two pistols, firing salt rounds into the oncoming wave.  Sam, with his lips that were never supposed to be twisted in fear and his eyes that were never supposed to be hardened to the pitiful screams.  

It wasn't supposed to go like this.  Dean didn't claw his way out of a pine box a year ago for this.  

He closes his eyes and thinks of wings.

Dean would open his eyes, but the brilliant, painful light is knocking him backwards and he's flying toward the rocks and then there's nothing, nothing at all.

 

 

_Dean._

He turns over, sighing, snuggling into the warm body beside him.  Whoever it is, it smells of rain.  Fresh breath, smooth skin, elegantly muscled, feathers.  Uhmmm.  Dean likes feathers.  Feathers remind him of bitterblue eyes and sooty hair and trenchcoats and chapped lips.  And chapped lips remind him of -

 _Dean_.

\- chapped lips remind him of heat, hot wetness, a strange-but-so-familiar tongue playing with his.  Pale skin and heated fingertips, coasting all over each other's bodies.  Chapped lips dragging over his skin.  Nonsense words whispered into his body.  Everywhere.  His mouth, his neck, his chest. Bodies slamming together, chests heaving, groans filling the heavy air, bucking and writing and _needing_ -

_...Dean?_

"Wha?"  Dean jerks awake to blue eyes a few inches away from his.  Cas is crouching, head tilted, surveying Dean's face with strange intensity.

Dean just breathes heavily for a moment before remembering his raging hard-on.  Dammit.  Shifting to cover the bulge in his jeans, he struggles to his feet and looks around.  The woods are silent, except for the soft rustle of wind in the pines and the distant birdsong.  The Impala sits a few feet away, and Cas is here too.  A few feet away.  Still staring.

Blue eyes.  Trenchcoat.  Hair, ruffled, like he'd just gotten out of bed.  Chapped lips.  And the answer to all these questions was yes, Dean Winchester had just had the most intense sex dream of his life starring one Castiel Novak.  

Dean shifts, Cas's scrutiny not helping his...problem.  "Sam?" he asks, from sheer force of habit, and his voice is a little better today.  Still a rasp, but better.

"With Bobby.  He took him to the hospital.  He's going to be fine."  Cas doesn't move.

Dean looks around, flashes of the night before coming back to him, and he shakes his head to clear it.  "The vamps - "

"Dead."

Then it all comes back.  Bobby and Sam, crouched behind the Impala, firing round after round into the horde, Sam screaming in pain, Dean fighting through bloody bodies to get to his brother until the blinding light came and silenced the world.

"You came."  It's all he can think of and he winces at how it sounds, but Dean's head is spinning, and anger and lust are mixing together.

Cas peers at him quizzically.  "You called."

He's stupid from the pain and his erection is beginning to throb.  He growls and swings at Cas, the blow sloppy.  Cas lets it land, stumbling a little, but not flinching.  

"Goddammit, Cas," Dean shouts, swinging again and again.  Some of the punches connect.  Others don't.  There's wetness on his face, and he's almost positive it's blood, but he doesn't want to pause to swipe at it.  He just keeps hitting Cas, over and over, watching the bruises blossom on that pale face then disappear.  It's like poison, sweet satisfaction, but the hurt always disappears and leaves those bedamned blue eyes.  Always fastened on him.

Again. Again.  "Why did you leave," Dean growls savagely, stumbling and nearly tripping into the Impala.  "Why the fuck did you leave?"

The angel tilts his head.  "I told you.  I had an errand upstairs."

"Don't ever do it again."  Dean's babbling, letting everything come out.  He can't stop the flood of syllables from his own mouth.  "Shit, Cas, if you leave again I'll kill you myself."

"Dean," Cas snaps, and it's the closest he's ever heard the angel to raising his voice.

But Dean can't hear anything but the beating of his own heart, harder, faster, and he wants Cas to hurt, hurt like he's hurting, and he only knows one way how so he grabs the goddamn trenchcoat and reels Cas in and slams his mouth against the angel's, hard.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never intended to finish this, but then I remembered how much I like this pairing. Damn it all to hell.

Salt.

Cas tastes of salt and electricity, and the taste of him tingles through Dean's body. He ignores the heat pooling in his groin and kisses Cas savagely, finding the angel's lower lip and biting down.

Cas doesn't move, doesn't even seem to be breathing. Dean pulls away. Stares at Cas's chapped mouth, swollen and red.  _I did that._ The thought sends his blood pumping south.

Cas touches his lip, eyes blank.  Dean clenches his fists and forces himself not to stare.

"This is not how humans generally express anger," Cas remarks. 

_Fuck._ He's touching his mouth again, wonderingly this time, and Dean gets a glimpse of wet pink tongue as Cas licks his lips.  He is so not sticking around to teach Cas Human Sexuality 101.  Fuck the confusion in his best friend's eyes, and the heat raging through his own body.  "No."  His voice cracks.  "That's not how we do it.  Usually."

"Then why - "

"I don't know, Cas," he snaps, and _why_ is Dean still hard, this is probably the most awkward situation he's been in since Sam walked in on him jerking off last year.  But Cas licks his lips again, and _oh, that's why_ _._

"Maybe you should try again," Cas suggests, his voice like gravel, and Dean doesn't have time to think, just pulls Cas towards him and yanks his mouth onto his.

_This is going to royally fuck things up._

Go to hell, Dean tells himself, and barely has time to stumble backwards and brace himself against a tree before Cas's tongue is in his mouth and _holy God above -_

Cas raises his head, panting.  "Don't do that."

"Do what," Dean rasps, nipping at that pink mouth that's been driving him crazy for months, maybe years.

"Take my father's name in vain while we..."

"Express our deep anger and hostility towards each other?" Dean suggests, yanking on the trenchcoat's sleeves.

Cas's eyes narrow, but he unbuttons the coat and lets it slide off his shoulders.  Dean's always loved the moment of anticipation before taking off a woman's lingerie - almost more than the actual sight - but seeing that trenchcoat puddled on the ground makes his breath catch as he looks up.

Castiel, angel of the goddamn Lord, is standing in front of him, hair disheveled, mouth swollen, looking confused and a little bit lost, and Dean's always had a problem resisting temptation.  When Cas's tongue finds his, static electricity races through his body and tingles in his groin.

Cas is the first to moan, quiet and cracking, and Dean's entire existence is pinpointed on making that sound again.  When Dean grinds his hips against the angel's, Cas whimpers.  When he fumbles with the button of Cas's slacks _,_ Cas moaning in his ear - _hurrypleaseDeanagainpleasenow_ \- and his fingers brush against the bulge behind the angel's zipper, Cas fucking _whimpers._ Grinds himself into Dean's hand.

Dean is dead.  In heaven, or hell, or somewhere in between, but this does not happen in real life.  His hands shake as he yanks down Cas's slacks, and his jeans and boxers soon follow suit, and he feels like he's been on the edge for days.  

When he's got Cas naked, he takes a deep breath and looks, half-expecting to find the lack of curves disappointing.  But the sight of broad shoulders, slender hips, and faint trail of hair leading to Cas's flushed, leaking dick is so fucking _amazing_ that Dean has to steady himself against the rough tree bark for a second.

It's the eyes that undo him in the end, hot blue gone cloudy with lust, black eyelashes that brush Cas's cheekbones when he moans.  Cas's eyes that widen when Dean takes them both in hand, Cas's mouth that opens, panting, as Dean strokes them together, Cas, _Cas_.  Dean's world narrows to one word, one syllable.  When Cas's hand joins his, stroking, rubbing their leaking dicks together, Dean gives up and thrusts into Cas's hand.  

_Jesus_.  Too much.  He's choking on it, can't take Cas's heated gaze on his.

Cas snarls a warning at the profanity, and at the gravelly sound, Dean jerks his hips helplessly into their conjoined hands and comes over Cas's belly.  His grip tightens on Cas's cock, and with a surprised cry, the angel comes seconds later.  

Dean strokes Cas through the last shaky tremors and into blissful exhaustion as they slump against the rough bark of the tree.

After a few moments Cas lifts his head from Dean's neck, voice hoarse.  "Is this how you express anger to all your enemies?"

Dean smirks.  "Only the ones that don't come when I call."


End file.
